


target shooting

by dyules



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, i had too much caffeine, it really is just self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyules/pseuds/dyules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Police AU. Jean is having trouble passing his firearms test and Mikasa is assigned to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	target shooting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunardistance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunardistance/gifts).



> This grew from a Jean/Mikasa 3 sentence fic tumblr prompt here: http://juliebeefjerky.tumblr.com/post/58913301102/jean-mikasa-police-au

“Jean, you’re too tense,” Mikasa breathes near his ear. Her hands, moving over the muscles of his shoulders, travel down to where he’s tightly grasping the gun. “Now, try it again.”

Jean fires. The bullet barely grazes the left side of the target’s face.

“This is hopeless! They’ll never OK me for the field!” Jean screams almost hysterically, before emptying another round on the offending target, a picture of a grinning, skinless anatomical model. Most of his shots glance off the opposite wall, although a couple of lucky ones pierce through the left shoulder area, not enough to be fatal.

Behind him, Mikasa watches, her normally impassive face showing signs of exasperation. She catches his hand before he picks up another magazine, a silent reminder to stop wasting bullets.

Mikasa had wanted to practice with Eren, but Lt. Shadis had put her up to this, barking out his orders, “Partner up with that Kirschstein punk or he’s sure to fail.” Eren had partnered up with Annie; he had waited around for a bit after their session ended, clearly having fun with Jean’s difficulties. After an hour or so of taunting Jean’s inability to hit a target, even Eren had gotten bored, eventually going home with Armin – presumably to work on the Titan mob’s profiles, as he was as fixated on that case as a cat was with catnip. Mikasa had been almost grateful that Eren went home early – there was only so much childish insults thrown back and forth that she could take.

Now, they’re the only ones left in a poorly-lit underground shooting range, and Mikasa fiddles with her red scarf, wishing she had gone home with Eren when he asked. She estimates it’s nearly midnight, and her phone lights up with Eren’s third message asking her if she’s coming home.

Maybe they should just give up. Jean hadn’t been able to pass a firearms test since his partner Marco took a bullet for him half a year ago. It was a touchy subject that nobody in the precinct ever talks about.  He had finally cleared his psych evals, but at this rate, he won’t be able to carry a gun.

Mikasa slips off her ear defenders and motions for Jean to do the same. After checking that his semi-automatic had nothing inside the chamber, she takes his hands and painstakingly arranges them around the grip in the proper way they were taught to, years ago at the academy. If Jean is insulted by this, he doesn’t show it, instead letting his fingers grow lax and responsive under her insistent ones. Mikasa’s hands are cold.

“You recoil early and you don’t follow-through. Raise your arms,” she pulls at his arms roughly, slides a leg between his to widen his stance, pushes a foot backward. They must have done this dozens of times this afternoon; both of them have long since tired of the repetition, of the possibility that a slight change would improve Jean’s results, and of the string of failures that had followed. “Lock your right arm if it trembles too much.”

Breaking the air of irritation that had been hanging over the two of them, Jean snaps, “It doesn’t tremble all that much, Mikasa.”

“Just because Marco used the Weaver doesn’t mean you have to,” Mikasa snaps back, and immediately regrets it.

Jean’s ears are red as he dry-fires towards the target. Clearly displeased at the lack of noise, he picks up a magazine and, slipping on his ear defenders, fires haphazardly again. Mikasa watches his tense shoulders adjust to the recoil of every shot with something like pity. She may have been out-of-line, but Jean was behaving irrationally, and she’s sure Shadis would agree that they don’t need any more reckless men out on the field. Lord knows Eren is more than enough.

She’s moving before she realizes it. Maybe it’s her protective instinct guiding her, or a general guilt at having lost her temper, but she doesn’t leave him alone when she could have. In quick, precise moves, Mikasa pushes Jean’s right foot backwards, locks his arm in position, and wraps her arms around him from behind to touch his nose and his abdomen. _Nose over navel_ , another reminder.

Jean yelps at the feeling of her hand on his abdomen, the cold somehow seeping through his shirt. Barely having time to react, he fires, and hits the target squarely on its right cheek.

They both stare at the hole on the target’s face, where it stands out, like an unnaturally big tear. Mikasa whispers a small, “Oh.”

“What does that mean, ‘Oh?’ I hit it!” Jean tries to swivel around to argue better, but Mikasa holds him still, looking thoughtful. She hasn’t let him go from her earlier manhandling, and she could feel Jean’s discomfort at their current position. A thought, strange but not entirely unwelcome, had occurred to her.

“Do it again,” she orders, letting go of him a little.

He shrugs and complies, raising the gun and trying to remember what went right last time, concentrating on the sights and his point of aim. He starts firing only to feel Mikasa’s hands plunge into his front pockets, cold hands flat against his thighs, and if that isn’t already incredibly awkward, she’s breathing hot into the crook of his neck too. It takes him a couple of moments to realize that he had hit both eyes of the skinless target.

Behind him, Mikasa seems to have noticed too, with her approving nod on his shoulder and her hands slowly tracing circles inside his pockets. They’ve warmed up a little, and without the shock of cold inside his pants, it’s all becoming quite pleasant for Jean, with something else starting to take intimate interest in her wandering hands.

“Did you see what you did right?” Mikasa asks him, slightly muffled by her lips too close to his shoulder, one hand pulling out and resting on his hip, where it burns, as Jean becomes hyper-aware of wherever her hands are going.

The other hand pulls itself out, and rests gently atop his belt buckle. Jean’s not sure if he groans or whines when Mikasa starts to undo his belt, because panic forces its way out and he’s pulling himself away, hands stopping hers, hissing, “Are we really doing this here?”

They’ve done it a couple of times before, once when they were both pissed at Reiner’s (lots of fumbling in the dark, and Jean vomiting), and another when Eren was assigned out of town and Mikasa couldn’t follow him (in Eren’s room, involving some secret pleasure in dirtying Eren’s sheets). Jean understands it’s just a matter of convenience for Mikasa, and if there’s a slight pang of dejection in his stomach, he chalks it up to his increasingly irregular eating habits.

Mikasa holds fast to his belt and steps closer. The cold lights cast unflattering shadows on her face, rendering her skin too pale, too ghostly, doing nothing to mask a whole day’s frustrations. A flush is creeping up her neck upon closer inspection, and her eyes, when they look at him, are determined.

“If you answer correctly, then we might.”

Jean stops himself before he says something stupid, and releases her hands. He knows why. All day long he’s been using a stance unfamiliar to him, in a dogged attempt to honor his former partner. Mikasa had shocked him into his old modified stance; he hadn’t even realized how stupid it was to force himself to relearn. _I’d probably get somebody hurt again with all these fucked-up decisions. Marco’d be pissed._

Mikasa’s still waiting for an answer. “I locked my arms and followed-through.”

Her lips close over his before he even finished, and for a moment, Jean wonders if she would’ve kissed him whatever he had answered. Everything’s quickly erased with Mikasa’s eager tugs at his waistband, his belt apparently still hanging on and adamant not to be unbuckled. She lets out a sigh of frustration, which Jean drinks up, and almost pulls away to look at her handiwork. Jean follows her withdrawing lips, though, licking his way in, feeling her hands leave his belt to grab his hair, deepening the kiss.

“Jean,” Mikasa whispers as he kisses his way down her neck, pushing her shirt to suck on a collarbone, “Jean, take your pants off.”

Jean laughs at her bossy tone, but a groan escapes him when Mikasa reaches down to palm at his clothed erection. He ruts into her hand, breathing small sighs into the dip between her collar bones. He could possibly come right then and there; he entertains the idea and feels like a 14 year old boy with the crush on the busty teacher again.

But he’s not the cocky kid who thought only of his pleasure anymore. “In a minute,” Jean grins up at Mikasa, following it up with another kiss.

It’s sufficient enough to distract Mikasa from his still-clothed state, and he hoists her up, next to the magazines on the counter before him. He starts unbuttoning her shirt, pushing it all the way down and affording him a view of more ghostly white skin. The sports bra she’s wearing is frankly uninviting, but he helps her take it off over her head. Mikasa, not to be outdone, rips his shirt off with her surprising strength, buttons flying everywhere.

Jean begins a slow trail of kisses down the valley of her breasts and over her well-defined abdomen, and Mikasa grips his hair, flush spreading up her cheeks, panting slightly. He’s reached her belt now, and he undoes it swiftly; Mikasa lifts her hips to help him dispose of her pants. Over the apex of her thighs a hand hovers, the owner of which is kneeling between her legs with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Mikasa kicks him over the shoulder, “Wipe that smirk off your face or I swear I- Ah!”

Jean had licked a stripe over her, and proceeded to fuck her with his tongue darting in and out, like breathing is something optional and not entirely required for continued human existence. His hands steady her trembling thighs as he continued his ministrations, paying close attention to the little bud between her folds, sucking on it earnestly.

Mikasa’s moans fill the empty shooting range, and she bites back a cry when Jean adds two fingers to his repertoire, opening her up, while his mouth works over her clit. She’s pushing on his head enough for it to hurt, but it feels so good, the hot wetness of his mouth (who knew it’s good for something other than smart-ass quips) and the fingers, thicker than hers, pushing in and out in an uneven rhythm, scissoring and reaching deeper than his tongue.

“Ah- Yes,” Mikasa throws her head back as a third finger is added, heightening her sensation of being full. One hand gropes at a neglected breast, tentatively squeezing it as she watches Jean hard at work to please her, and yes, this is right, Jean Kirschstein’s mouth has found its rightful place in the world: between her legs.

Teeth graze dangerously over her clitoris, and she comes almost without a warning, back arching and thighs tightening around Jean’s shoulders, and he takes her through it, thrusting lazily and lapping up her juices, pressing small gentle kisses over her still-trembling thighs. Mikasa could feel his grin on her skin and he wants to kiss him senseless because he deserves it. She pulls him up, and she does.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” she says between exchanging kisses. The counter they’re half-lying on must be seriously close to falling apart, but they could worry about that later.

Jean smiles into the kiss, hands traveling down the sides of her body, “It’s a talent.”

“Hmm,” Mikasa lets her hands trace the ridges of his broad shoulders and the planes of his back. “One you should use more often.”

“Would there be chances,” Jean nuzzles her neck, “I’d be glad to help.”

Mikasa pauses in her appreciation of Jean’s muscle groups, and Jean stiffens above her, thinking he just crossed a line. He wasn’t really suggesting any serious relationship, although he’d like that very much, but he’s fine with what they have now, mutual benefits included. He’s starting to retract his statement when Mikasa just says matter-of-factly, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Something like maybe happiness is welling up inside Jean, and he expresses it with more persistent kisses. Mikasa seemed to have other plans, though. She pushes both of them off the counter and indicates to Jean that she wants him to lie down. On the ground. By then, he’s too excited to disagree, as his pants are painfully tight around the groin area.

Mikasa – naked, glorious, with her inner thighs showing signs of his earlier attentions (and he couldn’t help but be proud of that, and proud that she _let_ him) – straddles him, unbuckling his belt and pulling off his pants in moves as precise as the ones with which she was teaching him to shoot. His cock springs free, already hard. For a moment she just looks at him in a manner one can only describe as hungrily, and he wonders what she sees, and he blushes, rather unexpectedly shy.

“It’s pretty,” Mikasa observes in her no-nonsense voice, and Jean wants to die because she just called his cock ‘pretty’ and she’s wrapping her fingers around him and he shudders, one hand flying to cover his face, the other scrabbling for something to hold. He settles on the back of her knee, and his grip tightens when she moves in languid, measured strokes.

It’s a curious sight, watching Jean respond to her touches. When they had sex the first two times, both were rough, messy affairs – everything too fast, too quickly finished. Profanities are starting to leak out of Jean’s mouth, and Mikasa decides this slow pace is better. It’s worth it just to watch Jean’s chest heaving with barely suppressed groans and his cock straining against her hand. With a slight whimper, she realizes she’s getting aroused again.

“God, Mikasa, move,” Jean whines and tries to buck his hips forwards, but Mikasa holds him down. She strokes faster and reaches the other hand to play with his balls, which elicits a choking sound from Jean. He’s trembling all over as he leaks more pre-come, and Mikasa, still curious, teases the head of his cock with a finger.

“Please- Mikasa, please, I’m close- AH!” Jean yelps; Mikasa had grabbed the base of his cock, delaying his orgasm. “Wait,” she says, “Do you have a condom?”

“M-my wallet,” Jean manages to breathe through her vicelike grip on his privates. Mikasa rummages for a while with the discarded clothes around them, finding and ripping the tiny square foil, slipping it over him.

Mikasa positions her entrance over him, and Jean sits up to support her back. She braces her hands on his shoulders, and her mouth falls open as she sinks slowly, taking him in by degrees until she’s fully seated on his lap. They stay like that for a while, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air, naked skin on naked skin, hot and sweaty and full of promise. Jean’s rubbing circles over Mikasa’s lower back, dipping downwards to cup her ass, revelling in the sensation of her, hot and tight, around him.

Panting heavily, Mikasa starts to ride Jean with abandon, head thrown back in ecstasy and impaling herself deeper on his cock, just as a phone rings, shocking the two of them.

“That’s Eren’s ringtone,” Mikasa notes, as they stare at the blinking lights coming from her pants. She reaches for it and Jean’s hand follows hers, “Wait, don’t answer that!”

“He’ll think something happened if I don’t answer,” she explains, sliding a finger through the touch screen and putting it on speaker. “Eren,” she answers, and whatever panicked retort Jean was planning to say is cut off by the angry voice from the other end of the line.

“ _MIKASA! I’ve been texting you, did you get any of them? Are you coming home? Are you still with that idiot Jean?_ ”

“Yes,” Mikasa manages to sound like her usual impassive self, despite having Jean firmly sheathed inside her. Jean’s trying to keep quiet, and it blows his mind when Mikasa starts moving her hips again, bouncing back and forth on his cock, while Eren is rambling about something on the speaker. He stifles a groan on a pink nipple, and grips tighter on her thighs.

Is Mikasa getting off off Eren’s voice? Jean could barely hear that bastard Eren over the blood pounding on his ears, and the slide of that wet heat around his cock. _Two can play that game_ , he decides.

“We’re almost through, Eren,” Mikasa is saying when Jean lifts her hips and thrusts sharply upwards, and she gasps in surprise, pressing a hand over the phone to mask her subsequent moans of pleasure. Jean continues his assault from below, sucking and playing with her breasts, and Mikasa meets his thrusts eagerly, matching his uneven rhythm to hers. His name is dripping from her lips over and over, like a prayer.

Eren is still apparently saying something from the phone in Mikasa’s hand, but neither of them are paying attention, distracted instead by the obscene sounds coming from where they are joined. Jean briefly wonders if Eren could hear them on his end.

They’re both so close, and Jean slips a finger in conjunction with his cock, thumb pressing against Mikasa’s clitoris, and she’s coming again, biting his shoulder to keep from crying out, and it’s the bite that pushes him over the edge, coming inside her tightening walls, her name leaving his mouth in a shout.

Mikasa rides him through it idly, and she collapses on his chest with him still inside. Jean holds her close and they trade soft kisses before Eren starts shouting angrily from the phone. Apparently he’s still there, and he heard Jean shouting Mikasa’s name in what can only be construed as pleasure, and his bastard mind is freaking out at the possibility of Jean violating his sister.

“ _Mikasa, what was that?! What was that!”_

“Eren,” Mikasa replies from her position on Jean’s chest, and once again, Jean is amazed at how thoroughly disinterested she sounds, “Jean has hit the target.”

 

\----

 

“Look.”

A .45 calibre semi-automatic is placed over Mikasa’s desk, and she looks up towards the proud owner of the military grade pistol.

“You passed the test, congratulations.”

Jean grins sheepishly, “Yeah, well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Nodding, Mikasa turns back to the stack of paperwork on her desk. Jean drops down on the seat before her. “Listen, Shadis says I barely passed, and I’d ‘benefit’ from more practice, so uh, I was thinking-“

“Maybe buy me dinner first before we start shooting things again.”

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOO [lunardistance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lunardistance) IT’S YOUR FAULT I’m crying it’s supposed to be pointless porn but I just had to mention Marco and it went downhill I’m sorry /ollies out
> 
> (ANYWAY Marco’s not dead, he’s just injured/broke a leg or something. He probably got promoted when he saved Jean’s life so he’s working a desk job at the DA’s office nowadays maybe.)
> 
> All I know about police I know from TV so idek, don’t quote me on this; also, don’t do it on a shooting range guys, you might shoot a buttock off


End file.
